Everything moves, everything passes - and there is no end.
Where it has gone? Whence it has come?
Neither the fool, nor a wise man knows nothing.
Lives... Dies... One has blossomed,
And another has wilted, has wilted forever...
And winds have scattered yellowed leaves.
And the sun will rise, as rose for the first time,
And the red stars, as floated for the first time,
Will float then too. And you, white-faced,
Will go out for a walk on the dark-blue sky,
Will go out to look into the gutter, into the well,
Into the endless sea, and will shine,
As you shone over Babylon, over its gardens,
And over those, what will be with our sons.
...
There is no end - as blue sky,
So there is no beginning and end of the soul.

Ukraine noised, noised long.
Long, long the blood flowed, blushed steppes.
Flowed, flowed and dried. Steppes green;
Grandfathers lay. And above them the graves become blue.
But what is a worth of their height? Nobody knows them,
Nobody sincerely will begin to cry, nobody will remember them.
Only the wind will blow over them quietly,
Only the dews will wash them early.
The Sun will rise, will drain, will warm;
But what about grandsons? They don't care, they sow wheat for masters.
There are a lot of them, but who will tell, where is Gonta's grave?
Where was buried this righteous martyr?
Where is Zaliznyak, sincere soul? Where does he rest?
It is hard! It is hard! Executioner rules.
And they will not be remembered.
Ukraine noised, noised long.
Long, long the blood flowed, blushed steppes.
At day and at the night there are cries, cannons;
The earth is groaning, is bending. It is sad, scary,
But when you will remember it - the heart will smile.

Oh, Dnipro, my Dnipro, wide and strong!
You, father, have carried into the sea
A lot of cossack blood; You will carry more, friend!
You was turning red a dark-blue sea, but didn't water him;
But this night he will be drunk. The hellish party
Will howl this night above all Ukraine.
A lot, a lot, a lot of noble blood will flow.
Cossack will revive; Hetmans in the gold coats will revive;
The destiny will wake up; cossack will sing:
"No jew, no pole!", and in the steppes of Ukraine -
Oh my dear God - the mace will flash!

All bells call
In all Ukraine;
Haydamaky shouted:
"Nobles are perishing, are perishing!
Nobles are perishing! We will party
and heat up a cloud."
Smilyanshchina has lighted up,
The cloud turns red.
And first Medvedivka
Heats up the sky.
Smila is burning, Smilyanshchina
covered with blood.
Korsun is burning, Chygyryn, Cherkasy,
Kaniv are burning;
The Black Road has lighted up
And blood has begun to flow
Even to Volyn.
Gonta is banqueting in Polissya,
And Zaliznyak is tempering the saber
In Smilyanshchina.

The Sun had risen. Ukraine
Somewhere was burned, somewhere was smoldered.
Somewhere nobles were thrilled in closed houses.
In all villages there are gallows;
The corpses are hanged up -
Only the chiefs, nobles are laying in heaps on heaps.
On the streets, on the crossroads
Dogs and ravens
Are gnawing corpses of the nobles, are pecking eyes;
Nobody forbids.

"Oh, green field,
Why have you turned black?"
"I have turned black because of blood,
Which was spilled for freedom.
Near the town Berestechko
Glorious cossacks
Have covered me on four miles
With their bodies.
And jackdaws
Covered me from the north...
They pecked сossack eyes,
But didn't want the corpses.
I, green, have turned black
For your freedom.
I will green again,
But you will never
Come back on freedom.
You will plough me silently
and damn your destiny."

Haydamaks had sown
wheat in Ukraine,
but it was not them, who reaped it.
What should we do?
There is no truth, it has not grown;
Falsehood rules -
haydamaks had dispersed
in all directions:
somebody to the home, somebody to the forest
with a bosomed knife
to kill jews. Till now
there is a such glory.
At that time the ancient Sich
was been destroyed:
Somebody had gone to Kuban, somebody to Danube.
Only river thresholds
remained among steppe.
They cry and howl:
"Our children had been buried
and we are torn."
They are howling and will howl -
People passed them;
And Ukraine forever,
forever had fallen asleep.

Oh from the mountains, from the firth the wind is blowing
Moskals* surround Sich Zaporizka
Surround moskals, settle camps
They were waiting their general for three days
They rushed to search food reserve
And all moscow sergeants to rob churches
They take the silver, take the gold, and even the wax candles

Oh arise, Petro*, oh arise, Father, people asks
We will stand on the frontier, like once
We will stand on the frontier, we will beg the Queen
To give us free steppe in the old borders.

Oh arise, Petro, oh arise, Father. What have we done?
What a good happy steppe we have spoiled

One cloud from the firth and the other from the field
Ukraine cried, it is her destiny
And cried Ukraine, it is her destiny